


like lovers do

by edenary



Category: Original Work
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alcohol, Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, M/M, Minor Violence, ember flirts, enemies dancing because why not, flustered casey, no surprise ending, possibly undertagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenary/pseuds/edenary
Summary: Casey thought it would just be another government ball where he'd stand off to the side, drink crappy champagne, and avoid everyone. But of course, Enemy-Of-The-State number 1 shows up and shakes it all apart.
Relationships: Ember/Casey
Kudos: 2





	like lovers do

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from a playlist i listened to while writing it. it would be pretty cool if you listened to it while you read. i'll link it below. also, this is more of a trial run-work, so don't expect a continuation. however, i'll answer any questions about the story you have if you comment them :)

[inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PUi1d-hI3I&list=PL84gcqvmMPsLr1WJ8sJ9u2FamWh_S9roz&index=1&t=1s)

I’m taking a sip of champagne that I don’t actually like when he walks in. I promptly choke on said champagne. His fiery red hair is rumpled as always but more tame than when he tries to kill me. Dark, intelligent eyes peer from behind wire-framed glasses at all of the government officials that barely pay him any heed. For once, he’s dressed to the nines in a tailored black suit with a crimson rose tucked into the lapel. He should  _ not  _ be here. Not at a government ball where even the president is scheduled to make an appearance. Oh, I was going to have words with the doorman about who he let into these functions. Before I can even set down my glass, though, he zeroes in on me and begins making his way over, ducking his head in acknowledgement at every high-ranking official he passes. Shit, shit,  _ shit. _

I’m not even armed, by the gods. I settle back, working hard to appear nonchalant as he steps around a waiter carrying glasses of more champagne and takes one, mouth moving in what appears to be thanks as he approaches me. The warm lighting shines behind him, setting some of the wispier parts of his hair alight like a halo.

“Good evening, Casey,” he says, sipping from the glass, “pleasure to see you here.” His eyes glitter in amusement as I scoff.

“Cut the crap, Ember. You shouldn’t be here,” I say. Even with people chattering and pairing off for what I assume is a dance, and despite the fact him being here is a warning sign, I'm quiet. Setting off the room by drawing attention to us would just be a bad idea. The one time I did, he disappeared before anyone truly understood what I’d said, and I looked like an utter fool.

“Oh no I definitely should not,” he chuckles, “but I don’t suggest raising the alarm. I hear President O’Hare is supposed to make an appearance. It would be a shame if someone were to-” he draws a finger across his scarred neck. 

I'm surprised he's not getting more stares, actually. He may always wear a mask and hat when he goes about murdering and destroying, so just about no one knows his identity, but he has too many scars for the high-class to just ignore them. Even his face has a scar, albeit small, cutting across his eyebrow. 

I gape at him as the conductor raises his arms and the orchestra begins to play. “You wouldn’t,” I say, setting down my glass, glad to not have to pretend I can stand it. 

“Oh I would, and you know that,” he replies, copying my movement. “Now, come, dance with me, Casey.”

“You must have fooled me with someone else,” I answer as he steps into my personal space.

“I am not mistaken one bit,” he says. “Dance with me before I make a scene.” He holds out his right hand, marred with a nasty acid burn scar, and I try not to wince as I take it. That particular scar was courtesy of me.

“See? Not hard at all,” he says with a smile edged with an emotion I can’t make out. It makes his eyes scrunch up and a dimple pop out on his cheek. Is it happiness? I don’t have time to think about it before he sweeps me onto the dance floor, avoiding the voluminous ball gowns of several ladies. It’s a waltz, and I have to focus to remember how to do the steps. I focus so hard that Ember ends up leading, a low laugh tumbling from his lips as I swear at my misstep. 

“This is an interesting piece,” he says, leaning to whisper in my ear like a lover, “My Sweet and Tender Beast, composed by Eugen Doga. You see, it starts out slow, but then it crests at an amazing pace. Like so.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, the song does pick up speed, and I’m left struggling to keep up as he whirls us around the ballroom, too good at this dance. The song slows once more, and I heave a sigh of relief as we settle back into a pace I can handle. 

“Seems like Mr. I Can Defeat Anything neglected his ballroom lessons,” Ember snickers. I ignore him, intent on not giving him the reaction he wants. I step back, following what I thought was the right sequence, but he pulls me against him. 

“Sorry about him,” he says over my head as I struggle to be released. “He hasn’t danced in a while, so he’s still getting reacquainted with it.” I can hear his heart thumping, faster than I really thought it should even with the dancing. He spins us away with another apology.

“You almost stepped on some poor lady’s dress. It would’ve been a disaster, too, because it was canary yellow and looked as if one tug would pull it off her chest,” he says, still holding me close. I push at his chest, face burning partly from embarrassment and partly because of a reason I would rather not think about.

“Stop pushing at my chest, dear. I’m keeping you from ruining a poor women’s night by ripping her dress off with careless dance moves. I don’t think the President’s wife would appreciate being disrobed in front of a hundred people.” The waltz picks up once more, robbing me of my intent to curse him and makes me focus on not screwing up again. 

When I can speak again without tripping, I look up at him and say, “Why the hell are you here, Ember?”

“What, I can’t have some fun with the only person who's been the one constant in my life for the past five years?”

“This isn’t fun for you. Your idea of fun is yelling fire and seeing how many people start screaming and running.”

“I’m hurt,” he says with a small frown, “I enjoy the finer things in life just as much as you do.”

I roll my eyes and look around. Everyone is still dancing even as the song transitions to a different number. 

He sees me looking around and snorts. “You’re not getting out of this that easily. Don’t forget. Scene.” He nods to the President who’s dancing with a woman dressed in the deepest green I’ve ever seen and smirks. 

"You smell delightful, by the way. Like cherries and chocolates," he comments, sniffing at me. "Did you eat the chocolate-dipped cherries by the appetizers?"

"Uh," I stumble. He smoothly corrects my mishap himself, pulling me up. Is he  _ flirting _ with me? The man who tried to throw me off the Treaton Bridge? Is this a distraction? I glance around, eyeing the room. As far as I can see, nothing is wrong or out of the ordinary. Still. I can't let my guard down too much.

Ember tsks his disapproval at my distraction. "I'm sure there's a line in an etiquette book somewhere about devoting your attention to your dance partner. Really, Casey. I thought you had better manners." 

"And I'm sure there's a line in a training guide about being distracted by the seemingly bigger threat while something happens outside of the distracted person's sphere of awareness," I answer a tad more sharply than I intend to. A tremble runs through his hands, and I shoot him a glare. 

"You do me a disservice by not trusting me," he finally replies after several seconds of suspect silence. Another glare from me and he shakes his head. "Yeah, that sounded idiotic even to me." He laughs and something loosens ever so slightly in my chest.

This waltz is much slower, more sensual than the last one, and Ember delights in lecturing me about it and its composers. If I didn't know better, I would think he's prattling, but Ember doesn't talk about things that don't matter to him. 

Even if I’ll never admit it aloud, he is an excellent dancer. Better than me, at least. He hasn’t faltered a step since we began and hasn’t commented on the times I’ve stepped on his toes. I suppose if it were to prevent a “scene” as he called it, then it was worth the sacrifice of my time and some of my dignity. The thought still lingers, though, that this is somehow a distraction.

“Get ready,” he comments and sweeps me up into the air before I can adequately prepare, following the lead of every other couple on the floor. I stifle my yelp as he turns, holding me up as if I weigh nothing. As soon as my feet are on the ground, he spins me. I’m not ready, still a bit lightheaded from suddenly turning in the air, and lose my balance, but before I can crack my head open on the marble, he catches me, smirking. 

“Careful now. Wouldn’t want the hero to kill himself dancing, would we?” 

“Shut up,” I reply, falling back into the right rhythm. It’s getting easier to forget who I’m dancing with, the actual villain of the government and of me. This is bad. I’m lucky Ember hasn’t put a knife in my back yet. He refuses to let me go further than four inches from him, muttering into my ear that I was a menace enough to his poor toes, better to not spare them than to take someone’s dignity. Why I note that he himself smells like rain, I don't know.

He looks up, eyes sharpening in sudden clarity. Then, Ember's tanned face blanches of its colour and his mouth parts in a silent gasp. His left hand comes up from my waist and grips my forearm hard enough to bruise. Dully, I notice another scar caused by me, a slash from a dagger. Had he ever scarred me? Not that I knew of. 

“What is it?” I demand, tugging back. I whip my head around, trying to see what he's seeing, but he shouts something indecipherable and spins us so that he’s covering my body as the world explodes in noise and light. 

_ That son of a bitch _ , I think before the light vanishes along my consciousness. 


End file.
